Hi Dad,

Well, what do you think of Grandma Louise? I'm assuming, of course, that you two have already become acquainted. Maybe that's not the case. Maybe she's still too busy catching up with her own loved ones who've passed before her to swing by your little corner of heaven to chat. Or maybe you'll never meet her? Perhaps heaven is set up in such a way that you only meet up with those you knew in this life? I hope that's not the case, because you would love Grandma Louise. I'm pretty sure everyone who ever met her did.

Her funeral was hard. Harder than I expected. I certainly wasn't ready for another one so soon after yours but, you know? Maybe I never would have been. I'm sure everybody at the service could see that I was having a difficult time, and there were a few who acknowledged it, saying they know it must be hard for me to be in that setting while "the wounds are still fresh." I wanted so badly to tell them that it was hard partially because I so recently lost you, but also because Grandma was such a great person and I will miss her. Grandma broke hearts when she left us all, and it's always hard for me to see people grieving.

I spent most of the weekend at home with Mom. It was only my second weekend there since my bereavement leave ended and it was definitely harder than the first one. Red was with me the first time, which helped immensely. I hadn't been completely alone in the house since your death until Saturday and, though very sad, it was bizarrely peaceful. I walked around taking pictures of your material possessions....the ones that Mom hasn't packed up yet, the ones that remind me most of you, the ones that make me feel like you're going to walk through the basement door any minute now. Your shoes, your boots, your work gloves, your lunch box. Though I haven't seen you in over two months now, you're still very present in my life.

You know what was one of the hardest things about being home? Seeing a half gallon of milk in the fridge. When the hell has Mom ever had to buy milk by the half gallon? You could have knocked that out with a couple of cookies after dinner. Speaking of cookies, she made THREE kinds. I was the only one home and she actually expected me to eat them all. When I scolded her for making so many, she told me that she thought there were two of us coming. Yoses. She certainly doesn't assist us in making healthy eating choices.

The treadmill has finally made its way upstairs. Nic and one of his friends moved it into the spare bedroom when I was in Tower. He just set it up this evening when he got home from work and he's taking a little run now. Oh Fahj, it sounds like he's going to go right through the floor. It's not good. I'm very happy that he wants to get fit and he's taking the initiative to do so, but I can't help (silently) hoping he decides to do it in the morning from now on, after I've left for work.

I don't know how well you remember Nic's house, but I'm sitting in a little nook on the top level right now. Until today, I was terrified of upstairs. For reasons unknown to me, it always seemed so cold and creepy, probably because we have only used it for storage since I moved in. Well, Nic has been encouraging me to get back into scrapbooking (he thinks I need a hobby so I won't be upset that he spends a lot of time working on amps) and after doing some sticker and paper shopping last week and getting some pictures developed last night (at Target, and they did an awful job...from now on I may have to actually go to Walmart, the store I swore I'd never go to after you died as I no longer needed to buy motor oil there), this was my first opportunity. I spent most of the afternoon up here and it's been very enjoyable, except for the gross black fly that keeps dive bombing itself into my hair. Gross.

If you get a chance, ask God what he thinks of Methodists adding on to the end of Lord's Prayer and let me know what he says. I'd be happy to tell Nic that he's wrong.

If you do see Grandma Louise, say hi for me and tell her that Nic and I are nowhere near sick of each other. Really, Dad. We're in this for the long haul.

Love,
Angie